


Chasing All The Stars

by sweetsonryse



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Family Feels, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, TBA - Freeform, everyone is hot rods mom, its rated m bc the first part is a little suggestive, off screen mechpreg, so its angsty city up in this bitch, to show how old i am its a lime at most
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 10:11:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsonryse/pseuds/sweetsonryse
Summary: Optimus Prime has died. His death causes Megatron to get his act together and pull the Decepticon and Autobot forces together to face a greater alien threat.This fic isn't about that war. It's tired of war, as is Megatron. This takes place after.Megatron is trying. He's working tirelessly to bring about a foundation to make peace stable, and last beyond him. Perhaps he's working too hard, if to just ignore the ache in his spark and run away from the thoughts that haunt his processor.But something that Optimus left behind has him stopping; a sparkling. The only sparkling to exist in this world. Despite all protest, Hot Rod takes Megatron by the hand and leads him on the path to heal.





	Chasing All The Stars

It wasn’t terribly romantic. The floor was darkened with various stains of energon and muck. The sound of rage and excitement echoed around their small sanctuary, hidden from the dark harshness of the world around them. The air was damp and humid, making their armor slick with condensation and their grip slip. But it hadn’t mattered, because between those desperate gasps and touches was his lover, the one person in this sea of chaos that mattered, that  _ understood _ .

He laughed, a soft and breathy little thing that made his lover’s spark soar.

_ This was right. _

“Merge with me,” he whispered.

“Merge with you?” There was no fear in his voice, as his lover had expected. There was curiosity and excitement; wonder and marvel at the fact that this beautiful mech wanted to bound with  _ him _ of all bots. “Are you sure you want that?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

There was a brief moment before the sound of transformation seams shifting and a panel giving way. The room was engulfed in a pale, blue light. 

“We could get in so much trouble.”

“Yes. We would. Do you care?”

“Never.”

Another sound of seams and clicks and another light joined. It was almost blinding. Another laugh bubbled up from him. He couldn’t help it. It was so pure, so warm and full of delight, of love, that it caused his lover to rumble up a laugh just as joyous. Never before had there been a union of two mecha that had been so holy, so right, as their own. 

The Primes would weep at this union. Their tears break and burn through the atmosphere like meteorites. Oh, what a fate for such an impossible love. What hope it will eviscerate, what hope it will make. 

If the world around them crumbled to pieces, shattered and broken and burning, they would not care. These two mecha would have each other and they would persevere through it all.

It’s a wonder if Primus took this as a personal challenge. 

* * *

He can't stop thinking about it. Megatron’s mind was often preoccupied with death - you didn't become a warlord without it. He had seen good mecha die before him, and at times he did mourn for them. They had always been brief. He had to keep his processor forward. Their goals of a free Cybertron under his rule were far too important to dwell on anything that wasn't for the cause. But no death had ever consumed him in his grief like this one. No death could haunt him like this. 

The death of Optimus Prime had come as it always will; swiftly and dramatically. As his plating shattered faster than it can go grey, his battle mask retracted in a desperate attempt to say something. Whatever his last words would have been are unknown. There wasn’t enough time to say anything. Whatever he would say to Megatron, who looked horrified at what stood before him, whether it be a final goodbye, a cry of dismay, or even words of comfort, were lost. His optics flickered and faded.

Megatron reached out. He wasn’t sure what compelled him to move. He didn’t know what he would have done if he had caught him. Optimus took the choice from him, however, and is gone before he even finished falling. 

The shattered platting crumbled into dust. It danced on the wind briefly, shining as it caught the light of the sun, before disappearing from sight. Then. . . nothing. 

When Megatron imagined the death of Optimus Prime he figured it would be glorious. A sight that would burn wonder into the eyes of any mech spectating. Enemies they may be, he knows, he is painfully aware, that every action and every word Optimus had ever spoken, breathes the mystical air of a Prime. Of a hero. His death should have been no different.

Instead he died taking a blow meant for Megatron, his enemy and the strongest warlord the universe has ever known, and he left in silence. 

Megatron couldn’t move. He just stared into space.

There was commotion around him but he couldn’t comprehend it. He picked up Ratchet’s voice in the distance, on a comm and yelling a retreat. “-Get him out of there, now!!” He was desperate about something, but who is there to protect now that the prime was gone?

The Prime is  _ gone _ .

::What are your orders, my lord?:: Soundwave’s comm is the only one that he can hear. He didn’t know what to say.

“Of all the foolhardy, stubborn aftheads I’ve _ ever _ had the misfortune of knowing-!! NO, Ironhide, don’t you  _ dare _ hold me back!” 

And suddenly Megatron is moved. He was manhandled to turn around and he could only stare at the poor fool of a mech that dared to touch him. It was Ratchet, because of course it is, that glares at him. Despite the trembling in his frame his eyes were hard and angry. In that moment there was nothing that Ratchet feared.

So, Ratchet punched Megatron.

It didn’t do much, but his head turned with the force of it. There was a collective gasp, a pause, as all eyes were on the two mechs.

“You’ve doomed us all,” he said, and its shaky. When Megatron looked at him again there were unshed tears in the medic’s eyes. “He warned you. You didn’t listen. He didn’t have to-” and he choked there, just a little, “- You did this. What happens next is on your spark.”

There was a stunned silence as he walked away unscaved from a silent Megatron. Ironhide followed him, tossing a cautious look at Megatron before running off. Though they retreat, there was nothing rushed about it. It’s slow, easy to follow; vulnerable. 

::We should go after them!:: Starscream urged over comm. ::We can end this now!!::

::No. It is already over.:: is Megatron’s final word. 

He turned and left at his own slow pace, not answering anymore hails. He glanced up at the massive alien warship hovering over the burning pyre that was the Cybertronian homeworld. It stared back at him but did not fire. No matter how hard he looks, daring them to fire, they hovered idly. He’s wasn't worth it.

Megatron hadn’t felt that small in a very, very long time.

* * *

Despite the best efforts of all the Decepticon officers, Megatron orders a ceasefire. He tells them he needs time to reflect and revise a plan of battle but his voice isn’t as commanding nor fearsome as it should have been. It’s a strange sight, and though Decepticons value strength above all else, they all admire their own leader too much to try to pull anything. They do not question his strange behavior, nor do they question his leadership. Not even Starscream says anything, though there is no doubt that he has his own plots queued. What he's waiting for, Megatron doesn't know. 

Megatron has spent solar cycles in his room. He doesn’t do much but sit on his berth, servos in his lap and thinking. Remembering. For a brief while, somewhere in the second solar cycle of his self imposed isolation, he became angry. He tore his room to pieces. He roared and beat at what he could, clawing at the walls with such ferocity that his servos bled.

How dare his processor betray him like this, wallowing in this state of grief. This was the death of his enemy. He won! This is what he wanted. He should be out with his Decepticons, stomping out the remaining blight of Autobot existence. He should be with his generals, celebrating with engex. He should be with Soundwave gathering intel on this new foreign enemy on his planet’s doorstep and chasing them off.

Prime had warned him, pinged a long and forgotten frequency. His intelligence officer had gathered some alarming reports of some alien warship entering Cybertronian space. They wiped out some Autobot colonies and were making a beeline for Cybertron. He sent reports from other systems of having populated planets dying, entire species being wiped out by this unknown force. 

He had said more, but Megatron wasn’t listening. He didn’t open any of the files. He had interrupted him, a cruel grin on his face as he dismissed him.

“What do I care for the death of aliens and Autobot? If anything, they should be my allies.”

And he had lived for the horrified, grieved look on his old friend’s face.  _ Yes, _ he thought.  _ Continue to look at me in fear. See what I’ve become, what I’ve done. What you made me do. This what I’ve become and this is what  _ you _ helped make me. _

He wanted Optimus to hurt. He wanted retribution, and though he would prefer Optimus’ cold, grey corpse at his feet, the grief on his face was enough.

This is what he wanted. Why did it make him feel so hollow?

_ “You did this. What happens next is on your spark.” _

Megatron moves for the first time in solar cycles. He goes to his terminal - it’s cracked to Pit but remarkably still functioning - and queues up the files from his last transmission.

* * *

_ “What is it that you want, Megatron?” _

_ “I want…” a pause. “I want to protect those that can’t protect themselves.” _

* * *

It’s a longshot and Megatron is sure it’s not gonna work. His disregard of the Prime’s warnings and insistence of a battle while Autobot optics were elsewhere had doomed them to their fate. No matter how hard Megatron tried, there was no way to fix-

::I knew I should have changed this slagging comm frequency.:: Ratchet’s voice is gruff and strained. He's angry, Megatron knows, but he can hear the exhaustion in it, the effort to put venom into his voice. ::Why do you still even have this?::

::I forgot to delete it.::

There’s a pause before a sharp bark of laughter. ::Of fragging course you did.:: The warmth in his voice dies as quick as it’s there. ::Now what do you want? To torment me even more? Humiliate us before we’re all blown to oblivion? I’m busy mech I don’t have all day.::

::No I want… I want your help.::

:: … Oh.:: 

There’s a long pause. Megatron lets him take his time. He’s fully prepared to receive Ratchet’s rejection. Instead, what he gets is a very cautious,

::What do you need?::

::I want to join Autobot and Decepticon forces together against the Quintession threat. War has already ravaged our side to dwindling numbers, to kill each other off and give them an easier time of extermination is foolish. I have plans, but they require aid.::

::How do I know that after the Quints’ you won’t turn on us?::

Megatron isn’t sure how to reassure him. If they were to switch places, he wouldn’t trust himself. But Megatron, in an impossible turn of events, is tired of war. He wants peace. He wants time to figure out the ache in his chest, and mourn for the loss of not only Optimus Primes, but of the life he had once dreamed of. Of the lover he had abandoned in his anger and ambitions. 

He wants to know where he went wrong and how to move on from it.

::I want peace, Ratchet. I am tired. I need… I need time.:: he pauses, a million thoughts chasing his processor. He can’t remember why they’re still even  _ fighting _ . The Senate is gone, the systems put in place had long burned to ashes. He wanted to rule as a supreme leader but… It made his helm ache to think about, but he isn’t sure he wants it anymore.

::I have been wrong, Ratchet. It has been a long time since I’ve been right.::

There’s another long pause. It stretches longer than any of the others, and Megatron fears what Ratchet will say. He’s always been ready to point out Megatron’s wrongs, point out how stupid he was being. It didn't matter if he was an idyllic gladiator, hellbent on change or a warlord that ripped literal mechs apart. It’s almost a comfort that Ratchet had strode across the battlefield tell him off and deck him.

Instead, he sends, ::Alright. I’m sending you some coordinates. You and your command - and only them - will meet us there. If you want this to work, if you truly want peace, I will not see a single extra mech.::

And isn’t that a miracle?


End file.
